the poetry knook :: the poetry of stephen m. james :: indianapolis, indiana » longing http://www.tpkpoetry.com the poetry of stephen m. james Mon, 14 Sep 2009 23:41:05 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.8.4 en hourly 1 Time in a queen’s single slough http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/time-in-a-queens-single-slough/ http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/time-in-a-queens-single-slough/#comments Mon, 15 Jun 2009 15:40:47 +0000 Stephen M. James http://www.tpkpoetry.com/?p=486 The one time, I’d give up time–twice,
as fast as chlorophyll leaves fall
to the ground: blood. Oranges coupled with bitters,
the saving grace: incoherent post-midnight mumblings of the past
day passing, air calms, (eupnea)
Leviathan to break free, locked up in this Loch
Lethargy desiring, to dote its anti-dote, anticipating
the smearing of oil, and the anointed,
return the plastic clamshell, tearing away,
thermoformed around a thermometer’s rising crescent,
carmine colored by parasitic spirits leaving,
into veins cautiously cauterizing
a brand. New. Return to each single second
is not difficult to imagine place to serve,
time in a queen’s single slough, tossing,
turning slowly-recalling at once,
upon a time.

]]> http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/time-in-a-queens-single-slough/feed/ 0 I was mistaken (or that pain was post-orgasmic marriage glue) http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/i-was-mistaken/ http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/i-was-mistaken/#comments Tue, 16 Oct 2007 02:10:09 +0000 Stephen M. James http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/i-was-mistaken/ Oh, to be a rational Epicurist! A sun spotless mind-cleaner (than)
a Pope for one more franchise will burn my body by a Steak, ‘n
Shake a SRI index fund’s pointy finger, at my 401-Kilo-calories
it reads on the fast food prospectus–just ’cause a prophet didn’t write it
doesn’t mean it’s untrue, Mo’ and mo’ years, the more I choose
beside my Jesus burger, I need more media, more YouTube
feeding tube is not enough!–need mail on phone, music on TV,
hybrid corn, a fructose I.V., a fourth meal of midnight tacos
drive-thru lines of closed eyes show ads on clothes and signs,
other’s behinds walking right to left, left to righteousness, the risk
worth taking this half field of nerves and flipping coins to kick
or be kicked on the other cheek bones protected by dead bolts,
car doors, live wires, meds, and noise canceling headphones ring
interrupting disrupting sighs: our stones, diarrhea, and UTI’s.

]]> http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/i-was-mistaken/feed/ 0 There is no animal http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/there-is-no-animal/ http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/there-is-no-animal/#comments Sat, 30 Jun 2007 23:00:04 +0000 Stephen M. James http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/there-is-no-animal/ There is no animal
except in the coal
powering this magnetic platter
only minerals in this production
seduction on plates of
power, porn, and politics:
creativity on a shoestring of abstract bits and
pieces spinning around, around
for there is no memory of before, random
access from any phone, wall, lap:
shuffling forward, backwards, waiting
as a vegetable, unmoving,
for the next quest for new

]]> http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/there-is-no-animal/feed/ 0 What if boot camp was what it was all about http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/what-if-boot-camp-was-what-it-was-all-about/ http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/what-if-boot-camp-was-what-it-was-all-about/#comments Unknown, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000 Stephen M. James the pendulum swings and
college slides
down the bunk bed post,
debunked of passion,
penny loafers, worn, on ice rolling
credits shower mortarboards
the newly commissioned officers
grow beards in battle
and salute the retail mercenaries
and baristas in berets

]]> http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/what-if-boot-camp-was-what-it-was-all-about/feed/ 0 Will they love me if I comment? http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/will-they-love-me-if-comment/ http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/will-they-love-me-if-comment/#comments Unknown, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000 Stephen M. James I will love if she comments (so many)
times and sights un-seen,
climbing mountains and sipping beers Flickr before my eye
and ewe sit behind a webbed and woolen curtain
following, descending, my stumbling Bloc,
stares into a liquid crystal reflection,
for nuclear arms are easier to hug than bloggers.

]]> http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/will-they-love-me-if-comment/feed/ 0 Hug buddy http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/hug-buddy/ http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/hug-buddy/#comments Unknown, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000 Stephen M. James another couple’s caress
is a “love is a dove from above” poem,
reserved in a library,
checking itself out it scribbles in the margin
-tly the lights fade,
the librarian says “We’re closing,”
my eyes bring no catalog of goddesses, but the book-next-store
to need me and feel me,
up to no good
-nested in this contrived world trying,
not to envision prostitutes
carrying on conversations about
Myers-Briggs, MacNeil/Lehrer NewsHour
by hour, do I need a pay
“meant to be?” she asks when the long
walk ends the girlfriends
gather eyes tell it all,
“he said we weren’t dating.”

]]> http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/hug-buddy/feed/ 0 We yelled for the sake of yelling our favorite songs http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/we-yelled-for-the-sake-of-yelling-our-favorite-songs/ http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/we-yelled-for-the-sake-of-yelling-our-favorite-songs/#comments Unknown, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000 Stephen M. James warm and cold is the life.
The blue LCD lingers even with friends,
my friends-my (saving me from the) screen
savers, freezing, cold, heartless–
the silence of mp3s and IMs,
the rock concert, the heavy metal hanging from the lashes, lulling to sleep–
s l o w i n g
the beams of light from reaching my eyes:
the red cheeks of winter night out glow fire and wash over the goodbye with a
“goodbye” faded with l o n g i n g,
for the radio interferes with the conversations
and with the passenger-seated soul
beside me
gliding down the interstate, the back-roads, the melting, the remembering

]]> http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/we-yelled-for-the-sake-of-yelling-our-favorite-songs/feed/ 0 Go fish. I don’t have the cards you’re looking for http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/go-fish-i-dont-have-the-cards-youre-looking-for/ http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/go-fish-i-dont-have-the-cards-youre-looking-for/#comments Unknown, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000 Stephen M. James Don’t tell them who I am:
preconceived ideas–damn it!
I had to deal with those when I got called–oh, so long ago.
You thought I was going to make things better:
give you a mansion by the seaside?
All my talk of mansions isn’t here, you know,
to keep you warm and cozy by the fireside.
Go and save the world, and oh, and by the way,
break your grandmother’s heart
she’ll only see you every 2 years.

]]> http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/go-fish-i-dont-have-the-cards-youre-looking-for/feed/ 0 Dead plant on the countertop http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/dead-plant-on-the-countertop/ http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/dead-plant-on-the-countertop/#comments Unknown, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000 Stephen M. James Her angst minces my onions,
carves into the skin
and out the flesh
and into a nice salad
to serve to company;
after church, of course.
Eat me! There’s no whittling today,
this is the county fair “devour your plate and fork and everything else, too” consumption contest.
He’s not a savory sap,
but I’ll remember that the next time I spend years on a commode
just thinking about Him–after dinner that day–it was great!

(Cry / cut / sever / fingers gripping me: the dead plant on the countertop.)

]]> http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/dead-plant-on-the-countertop/feed/ 0 Only wires and air http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/only-wires-and-air/ http://www.tpkpoetry.com/poetry/only-wires-and-air/#comments Unknown, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000 Stephen M. James And we bow down to these vaginal idols,
every moment of every day-
dream there she is–right beside me,
and I don’t even know her.
Such a pantheon to worship:
to assume there is a perfect goddess
is betting on Mercury
waiting, waiting for the return letter,
checking every conversation for an address to permanently live.
Oh! to be unmade by the batting of lashes and the curves
of roads that lead and twist and detour
signs left by others point, but behind
the wheel seems to be the only pointer,
pulling up beside a car zooming along to the same curves,
but a different road each time,
never to meet again.
Maybe if I collide and call Allstate, we’ll get to talk,
I could glance at her home address,
or at least she’d yell at me as we fill out forms.
It would be better than this
mechanism called radio with its chord-less voice
of only wires and air.

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